Jacob Cornelisz van Oostsanen (fl. 1470–1533) is also unrepresented here. Portraits by painters in this group are often confused, as in the case of the Portrait of the Duke of East Friesland, in the Oldenburg Gallery, which has been attributed to both Lucas van Leyden and Jacob Cornelisz. A pupil of the latter may have painted the Cana of Galilee (No. 2640c). It is safe to assign to “the Master of the Female Half Figures,” the Young Lady Reading (No. 2641c), which has a close analogy with the well-known picture in the Harrach collection at Vienna, representing half-length figures of three young ladies in crimson velvet dresses cut square at the neck, and singing to the accompaniment of a flute and a lute. The name of this painter is not known, but his pictures, which are neither numerous nor of any conspicuous merit, are easily recognisable.
To this period of transition and mediocre painting belongs Jan Scorel (1495–1562), whose Portrait of Paracelsus the Doctor (No. 2567a) is inscribed:
“FORMOSO DOCTOR PARASELSUS,”
and is in every way superior to the Portrait of a Man (No. 2641b), which is labelled with the name of Scorel, but catalogued as being by an unknown artist. From Scorel, a much travelled Dutch artist, who at one time worked at Nuremburg with Albrecht Dürer and visited Venice and the East, we naturally pass to Jan Mostaert of Haarlem. Mostaert of Haarlem is unrepresented at the Louvre, a remark which equally well applies to the anonymous “Pseudo-Mostaert,” who painted so much in his style that a large number of inferior productions have been credited to him from time to time. Pictures of this type vary so considerably that the name “Pseudo-Mostaert” is little more than a generic designation for unassignable Flemish and Dutch pictures of the middle of the sixteenth century; such pictures bear some relationship to the Christ bearing His Cross (No. 2299), and the Abraham’s Sacrifice (No. 2300), officially attributed to the little-known and quite negligible painter Alart Claeszoon (1498–1564) of Leyden.
SIR ANTONIS MOR
From Leyden we may pass to Utrecht, which was the birthplace of the much-travelled, distinguished, and cosmopolitan painter, Antonis Mor (1512–1578?). He was a pupil of Jan Scorel, but soon freed himself from the hard manner he acquired under that master by his study in Italy of the best works of the Venetians. Indeed, some of his pictures have passed as the work of Calcar, the pupil of Titian. Mor, or Moro, excelled as a painter of vigorous and truthful portraits, and the portraits and replicas he painted of Queen Mary are well known. The Prado Gallery at Madrid and the Vienna Gallery contain good examples of his art, and he is fairly well represented in the Louvre. While he was in the service of Philip II. of Spain he lived in much splendour, and was amply paid for his work. His close intimacy with the monarch induced him on one occasion to take the liberty of touching with a brush dipped in red paint the hand of the king. This serious breach of Court etiquette created a profound impression on the courtiers present; and, although the painter sued for pardon and obtained it from the king, he soon recognised that he had made himself obnoxious to the Inquisition, who asserted that Moro had got from the heretic English, while painting the portrait of Queen Mary, a charm that enabled him to bewitch the Spanish monarch. Being thus compelled to leave Spain, he settled in Antwerp, where he died between 1576 and 1578.
The pictures of Mor, who was the contemporary of Titian, at different periods of his art bear traces of the Dutch, Spanish, and Flemish schools. He in turn also had an influence on the portrait painters of Spain half a century before the birth of Velazquez. The Portrait of a Man (No. 2478), which is signed and dated:
“ANT MORO pingebat, 1565,”
was in the past held by some writers to bear the features of Sir Francis Drake, who was, however, at the date here given only twenty-one years of age. The two large paintings in the Duchâtel Bequest which pass as the Portrait of Louis de Rio and His Wife (No. 2480 and No. 2481) are, judging by the attitudes of the figures and the shape of the panels, the wings of a large altarpiece. The Dwarf of Charles V. (No. 2479) reminds us that the painter, while still young, was taken into the service of that emperor. The Portrait of Edward VI. of England (No. 2481a) bears a very suspicious-looking inscription.